A New Pair of Running Shoes

One knows for sure what their medium of choice is when they are inspired to act by something that moves them. People are influenced every day by things large and small, but it isn’t often that a person, place, or thing comes along and makes someone feel something. It’s those unexpected moments that make a person want to react, and thus one discovers what their method of madness is.

When called upon by a force to respond, there’s no telling what one may be wont to do until the first time it happens. Some may be inspired to paint a picture, while others may be just as inspired to bake a pastry or shoot basketballs until the sun comes up. Others, like myself, are called to put pen to paper/fingers to keyboard to describe in poetry or prose the emotions felt.

The most recent moment that made me feel something was when I tried on my new pair of running shoes. Well, they’re actually training shoes per the product description on the company’s website, but my roommate held them and thought they felt like running shoes, but that’s beside the point. I’ll call them running shoes for now, especially since when I put them on, I immediately had the urge to run.

What’s surprising is that today was not the first time I actually put this particular pair of shoes on. I had worn them first in the DSW in Union Square. They were unlike any other pair of sneakers I had ever worn. The main material of the shoe is a light, red fabric. The shoes have no tongue, with laces only there to tighten up the shoe ever so slightly after they are slipped on. I was surprised by how comfortable they felt from the first moment I donned on. I gave them a quick test run in the store, doing the fastest of jogs down a short aisle of shoes. They felt good enough to warrant purchasing that day, but they felt almost nothing like how they did today.

I put the shoes on this evening for their first trip to the gym, and as I filled a water bottle and gathered my keys, all I wanted to do was to drop everything and sprint down the block as fast as I could. Everything from my feet to my brain was telling me to run. Every step I took around the apartment was a step I could have spent running. I certainly didn’t feel that way before I put them on; I had to get over a great bout of laziness just to consider going to the gym today. I’m not much of a runner, but my new shoes would have had me believe I was Usain Bolt.

As I made my way to the gym I decided to succumb to my instincts. I turned down a side street, and through the dark of night I dashed towards the light of the distant intersection. I held my water bottle in one hand, and my keys, headband, and iPod in the other I couldn’t see much more than a couple of feet ahead of me, so I put blind faith in the city that they kept this short section of sidewalk clear of holes or bumps. Like the first bite of a good chocolate cake, the start of my run felt amazing. Every part of my body was telling me that this was what I was supposed to be doing at that exact moment.

Unlike every subsequent bite of a good chocolate cake, which usually remains delicious throughout the duration of consumption, the run slowly began to lose its appeal. After a short while I didn’t really feel like running anymore. Even though it was 8:00 at night it was still fairly hot out, which made running slightly uncomfortable. I also knew that I wanted to conserve my strength for the test I was preparing to put my body through at the gym. With this in mind I stopped running about ¾ of the way down the block. I didn’t stop altogether, but kept it to a brisk stroll the rest of the way to the gym.

Though the urge to run faded from my feet, it did not fade from my memory. Throughout my workout and walk back home it was one of the only things I could think about (as well wondering what to do about my balky hamstrings). I knew it was a feeling I wanted to capture in writing, so after I got home I showered, booted the up laptop, and started to write.

Which brings me to this moment, writing about writing as I’m writing this sentence. I think I’ve written enough, so I’m going to stop typing now.